


Angel's Chorus

by Czigany



Category: Mass Effect
Genre: Bad Jokes, Gen, Mass Effect Kink Meme, Pre-Shakarian if you like, Saving Sidonis, brief mentions of the rest of the Normandy crew, worse flirts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-14
Updated: 2014-01-14
Packaged: 2018-01-08 16:13:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,585
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1134778
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Czigany/pseuds/Czigany
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Shepard has gone looking for Archangel and, if she acts fast enough, she might just be able to save his crew as well. Pre-Shakarian, if you like. M for violence. Kmeme fill: Saving Sidonis.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Angel's Chorus

When she first stepped onto Omega, Commander Shepard couldn’t help but think of one of the ancient vids she’d grown up loving. Truly there could not be a more wretched hive of scum and villainy in all the galaxy than the grimy streets and desperate inhabitants that surrounded her. This was her kind of place, just... not dressed as she was. Her two babysitters - she refused to think of them as anything else, not yet - only made it worse.

Miranda, in her skin-tight, bright white catsuit, was certainly attracting the kind of attention normally reserved for asari dancers. Jacob, also dressed in an impractically tight combat suit, was making his distrust of everyone and everything around them known rather vocally. She pinched her nose and tried to stem the headache forming.

“Look,” she cut across Jacob’s rambling monologue with barely concealed impatience. “Why don’t you two just go on back to the _Normandy_ , hmm? You stick out like a pair of elcor in a quarian wet suit contest.”

“We can’t do that, Commander,” Miranda informed her in a patronising tone.

She probably thought it was cute that little girl Shepard wanted a bit of freedom, but she’d find out soon enough that this little girl had teeth enough for a wolf. Pasting a sickeningly sweet smile on her face, Shepard tilted her head just a bit to the left. “You know Ms. Lawson, I’m not even sure why you’re down here at all. As my self-proclaimed Executive Officer, you _really_ ought to be manning the comm while I’m ashore. And you, Mr. Taylor,” she continued, tilting her head the opposite direction and smiling a bit wider, “You really ought to see the lady home, don’t you think?”

She took them by an arm each, propelling them back down the hallway to the airlock. She shoved them in unceremoniously and grinned as Jacob’s shoulder smacked the door close button. Now they’d have to wait through the decontamination cycles before they could try to track her down. Fortunately, she knew just how to disappear in a place like this.

Before she could slip into the shadows, however, an appreciative chuckle stopped her in her tracks. Twisting around, she spotted an older man leaning against the opposite wall. The right side of his face was heavily scarred but he was alive; a feat all its own for a mercenary like he probably was. Crossing her arms, mindful of the time it would take her watchers to reemerge, she questioned him with just her expression.

“Good work with the Knight and Princess there. You Shepard?”

“I might be,” she raised an eyebrow at him. “Depends on who’s asking.”

He nodded, smirking faintly, and pushed off the wall. Waving her down a partially concealed alleyway, he returned the favour. “Zaeed Massani. I work for you now. Let’s go get a drink while those two figure out how not to get themselves killed by Aria.”

She wasn’t about to turn down competent help, so she nodded and started off in the direction he’d indicated, confident enough in her skills to show him her back. They had barely turned the first corner when she heard the distinctive click-hiss-grind of the airlock doors opening again. Evidently noting the same, Zaeed grunted and took the lead, hustling her away from the docks and down into the depths of the station.

They settled at the back of a filthy bar populated mostly by humans with only the odd batarian or turian huddled in the shadows for flavour. When they each had a mug of cheap beer in them and another ready on the table, the mercenary sat back and eyed her carefully. “What’s your target?”

She leaned forward and tapped a gauntleted finger on the table between them. “Not so fast. How do I know you really work for me and who hired you in the first place?”

He laughed and drained half of his second beer. “Paranoid little bitch, ain’t ya? Good. Keeps you alive.”

When she only watched him silently, Zaeed grinned and produced a small datapad. She picked it up cautiously and scanned the contract it contained while he explained. “Cerberus hired me. Paid a pretty little penny too, so here I am. Now, you can’t just be on Omega for me, so who else are you after?”

“Archangel.”

To his credit, the mercenary only looked thoughtful, rubbing the stubble on his chin. “Pretty big target, but probably doable. Got a squad under him that might give us trouble though. Might be able to pick ‘em off one by one if we do it right and blame the bigger merc groups.”

He finished his beer and signaled the timid waitress for another. When he looked back down at Shepard, she was shaking her head. “Not to kill him. To recruit him. I need more capable soldiers than the bumbling pile that came with the ship.”

Zaeed nodded appreciatively and rubbed his chin again, staring out over her shoulder in contemplation. “Alright. His crew’ll likely still be a problem, but I’ve been hearing some rumors that Tarak’s gotten hold of one of them. Turian, I think.”

“Could be our in, then,” Shepard mused. “Who’s Tarak?”

“Leader of the Omega faction of Blue Suns,” Zaeed grumbled.

Immediately she was leaning across the small table, pistol out and pressed against the underside of his jaw. “And who are you to the Suns that you've got their tattoo on your pretty little neck?” she ground out between clenched teeth, cybernetics blazing red behind her eyes.

He watched her coolly for a while, lip curled in a faint sneer. “Was actually going to ask you for a bit of help with that once we got off this rock. I’ve already survived one shot to the head; you want to see if you succeed where Vido failed?”

“You need my help to get rid of a fucking tattoo?”

He barked out another harsh laugh. “No, love. I need your help to get to Vido.”

Shepard eyed him for a moment longer, then pulled the pistol back. “You might want to start from the beginning, Massani.”

He shook his head, waving his hand at the waitress impatiently. “Not here. Walls got ears and eyes and your two hangers-on’ll be sniffing us out soon enough.”

She watched him toss back his third beer and stand. Flipping a credit chit to the bartender on the way out, the grizzled mercenary led her back into the grimy streets of Omega.

\---

Zaeed’s voice crackled faintly in her ear as Shepard peered through her scope into the warehouse below. “How do you want to handle this?”

“Wait until ugly leaves,” she replied softly, referencing the batarian stalking menacingly around a blindfolded, worked-over turian tied to a chair in the middle of the floor. “Then we take out the two interior guards simultaneously. I’ll drop in and grab Spike, you cover us as we slip out the back. We meet up a few streets away or back at the Hole if we get separated.

They’d staked the place out for three days after she’d switched out her shiny N7 armour for a less conspicuous mercenary set, avoiding her babysitters and watching the routine below. Any longer and they risked the turian cracking and giving up whatever information he was keeping from them. He grunted and she could hear faint shuffling as he readjusted his rifle. “Heard there was a top-notch salarian doctor down in the slums if he’s more beat up than we can fix.”

“S’posed to pick him up anyway, if it’s the one I’m thinking of,” she breathed, tensing as the batarian gave his captive another punishing hit before gagging him and stalking out barking orders and threats.

“He’s drawn off the two furthest guards outside,” Zaeed reported.

“If we’re quiet, the other four won’t know what’s happened for at least two Omega Standard hours,” Shepard reminded him. “Tell me when you’re in position.”

“Ready.”

A faint count, two silenced shots, and two bodies dropped to the warehouse floor missing their heads. Zaeed’s rough chuckle came through the com as she shouldered her rifle and eased over the frame of the broken window that had been her perch. As silently as possible, the Commander made her way down the rusty catwalks to the hard concrete floor. She approached the pale turian cautiously, trying to determine whether he was conscious or not. Her omni-tool chirped quietly and she stooped to pull the bonds from his legs, speaking softly just in case he could hear her.

“Hey there Spike. I’m Commander Shepard and I’m here to bust you out. Keep silent and don’t struggle and we’ll get you through this. Sorry I don’t know your real name, but what’s a little nickname between friends, eh?”

Spike tilted his head towards her weakly when she stood. His hands hung limply at his sides now, and she leaned over him carefully to remove the blindfold. Ice blue eyes peered up at her hazily and she grinned. “Great to have you with us, Spike. Let's get this gag off and get outta here, hm?”

His head tipped forward in what might have been a nod and she unfastened the rusty metal that had been clamping his jaw and mandibles shut. Setting it quietly on the floor, Shepard reached out and pulled an arm over her shoulder. The chair scraped loudly in the relative silence as Spike heaved himself upwards using her as a crutch. They froze and she darted a glance to the heavy door the batarian had left through. “Zaeed?” she whispered urgently.

“All clear,” came his gruff response. “They're just settling down for a game of cards.”

“Let’s move,” she ordered softly.

As quickly as she could manage, the Commander half-dragged, half-carried Spike back up to the catwalks and maneuvered him through the same broken window she'd entered from. Darting a concerned glance around, she hustled the flagging turian across the rooftops and back into the maze of Omega's streets. Zaeed met up with them before long, assault rifle out and ready as he ushered them along a complicated path designed to throw off any pursuers. Finally, they slipped inside a crumbling apartment building and made their way to its basement.

The mercenary had called this particular safe house the Hole for the simple fact that it was much nicer than it first appeared and it was located in what passed for underground on the station. Easing Spike onto the bed, Shepard ignored Zaeed as he secured the perimeter. Instead, she began to methodically strip the torn clothing from their charge. They taught basic field medicine for most species to the Alliance SpecOps in case of joint missions, and now she was putting that knowledge to the test.

"Stay with me Spike. If you die, I'll kill you myself," she muttered, gritting her teeth at the sight of cracked plates and shallow wounds sluggishly leaking blue.

Zaeed dropped a medkit next to her and cracked it open, tugging on a pair of gloves and grabbing a few supplies before moving to the other side of the bed to help. The Commander tossed the turian’s ruined shirt over her shoulder before donning her own pair of gloves and beginning to sanitise the worst of the gashes crossing his torso.

“You really... Shepard?” Spike’s voice was raspy and dry.

Shepard glanced up at his face from where she was squeezing medigel between two of his plates. “Yeah. You really Spike?”

The pale turian huffed out what might have been a laugh and shook his head once, weakly. “Sidonis...”

“So close,” she groaned with mock disappointment. “Well Spike, you just sit tight while Scarface here and I patch you up. We can have a proper chat when you’ve slept. Maybe we’ll even get you some new clothes, hm?”

His brow plates twitched down in confusion as she continued to use the nickname, but Sidonis nodded all the same. The medigel was working fast and he already looked better but what he really needed was a good nap. Talking was counterproductive. Catching Zaeed’s eye across the bed, Shepard twitched an eyebrow up imperiously. The mercenary sneered back but all the same he pulled a small needle from his supplies and slipped it into the turian’s neck before Spike could object. Within a minute, Sidonis was out.

“You’re going to make me do your dirty work all the time now, ain’t ya,” Zaeed grumbled around a smirk.

“You love it,” Shepard snarked back, helping him shift Spike onto his stomach so they could deal with the lacerations to his back plates. “Or you will when we get to the good stuff.”

“The good stuff will be killing Vido with my bare hands,” he snarled at the mention of his old partner. “Everything else is icing.”

Shepard grinned and the cracks in her face glowed. “Delicious, delicious icing.”

\---

“That was a dirty tactic,” Sidonis grumbled a few hours later when he stumbled from the bedroom with the sheet wrapped around his waist.

She was bustling around the kitchenette, looking like the galaxy’s deadliest housewife with an apron over her armour and a pistol always within arm’s reach. He eased himself into one of the chairs set around the small table. Shepard hummed and set a plate of food and a glass of water in front of him, tossing him a wink and an impish smile as she turned away. “What can I say? I’m a dirty girl.”

He prodded the food warily, determined to not be flustered. “What is this, anyway?”

Shepard shrugged and sat down opposite him, the apron thrown over the back of her chair, and a different meal and her own glass of water in front of her. “I never could pronounce the name properly; too many,” she wiggled her fingers mystically, “ _sub-harmonics_. It was one of Garrus’ favourites, though. Got it from some little cafe over thataway,” she gestured with her fork off towards the left wall.

Sidonis took a tentative bite. “Garrus... Vakarian?”

The Commander looked up in surprise, then leaned forward eagerly. “Yeah, you know him?”

He shook his head and took another bite. He hadn’t had proper turian-cooked food in ages and after the last week it was like the Spirits were blessing him with every mouthful. “I know _of_ him, through the vid feeds of your take down of Sovereign, but I couldn’t claim to really know him.”

Shepard looked disappointed and Sidonis was glad she couldn’t read the undertones in his voice. He was terrible at lying but if he twisted the truth enough it was really only apparent to drell and other turians. “Why did you save me, anyway? Not that I’m not grateful,” he clarified, “but no one does things on Omega without an ulterior motive. And where’d Scarface go?”

“Zaeed’s outside, ‘checking the perimeter,’” she made little air quotes with her fingers. “He wanted to have a bit more fun with the Suns before we busted off this rock. He’s also keeping up with the merc chatter about your escape. He’s more subtle that way than I am.”

Shepard grinned and Sidonis caught a flash of red behind her eyes. “As for why we saved you, well, as they say in the old vids: ‘Take us to your leader!’”

The turian froze, his glass halfway to his mouth, and eyed the human across from him warily. “You want me to bring you to Archangel?”

Shepard batted her eyelashes in a way he suspected was purposefully exaggerated. “Pretty please? With sugar on top? I just want to ask him some questions.”

“What kind of questions?”

She pursed her lips and started ticking them off on her fingers. “Name, age, species, does he like humans, does he like human _women_ , if yes to those two does he want to go for drinks sometime, does he play Omega Seven Card, how does he feel about strip poker, how many people are currently out to kill him, would he like some help with that, can I call him Sisyphus, how does he manage to keep Aria off his back, can he teach me, and would he like to join our crew on a possibly-probably suicidal run through the Omega 4 Relay sometime in the near future?”

Sidonis could only stare, mandibles slacked incredulously, as Commander Shepard smirked and shot him another wink before standing, dropping her dishes into the sink, collecting her guns, and sauntering off towards the door.

\---

It had taken them a few more days to set up the meeting. Convincing Archangel to agree hadn’t been that hard - dropping her name had gained almost instant approval - but convincing Spike to even contact his partner-cum-boss had been a trial. Shepard had been forced to point out that, while they had saved him from the Blue Suns as a sort of peace offering, she and Zaeed weren’t above using other methods to get in contact with the elusive vigilate. So here they were, Shepard back in her N7 gear and Sidonis kitted out in a set of re-painted turian armour that Zaeed had ‘acquired’ from the mercs he’d been killing to pass the time.

The meeting was arranged in an abandoned storehouse. There were plenty to go around on the station and the grimy setting appealed to Shepard in a film noir sort of way. She snickered to herself at the thought of Spike playing the femme fatale, complete with slinky dress and darkly alluring makeup. Did turians even smoke cigarettes? Whatever; she’d think about that later. Zaeed was scoping the building from a nearby rooftop in case of a double-cross, but she didn’t think it was going to be necessary.

As if in confirmation, the far doors opened and a helmeted turian appeared, flanked by two humans, two more turians, a krogan, and a batarian. Based on Sidonis’ information, there were at least four others in positions monitoring the situation. When the entourage came to a stop several paces away, Shepard kept an easy grin on her face and her eyes on the blue-suited leader. The shade was familiar but not uncommon, so she wasn’t going to get her hopes up just yet. Even the creepy Smoker didn’t know where some of her old team had gone.

After several minutes of silent observation, Archangel seemed to relax slightly. A minute gesture had his team easing back and gloved hands came up to release the latches on his hardsuit. The helmet came off slowly, and Shepard chuckled soundlessly at the dramatic reveal. Of course, anyone who called themselves _Archangel_ had to have at least some flair for theatrics. The face that was uncovered was most definitely welcome and her smile widened the cracks in her skin dangerously.

“Sugar!” the Commander exclaimed, moving in to embrace her friend.

“I thought you wanted to call him Sisyphus?” Sidonis muttered from behind her, a little incredulous that their leader was allowing the contact. And the name.

Garrus raised a browplate at his wayward teammate before grinning at Shepard as well. “Heard you were dead.”

“I was. I got better.” She waved off his surprised look, taking in the additional company that had emerged from their hidey-holes when it was clear this stranger wasn’t actually a stranger.

“You had some questions for me?”

“Haha! Spike couldn’t keep his mouth shut, could he?” She shot a look over her shoulder to where Sidonis was talking with a volus. “But now that I know it’s you, most of them are answered! Well, maybe not the strip poker one, but that can wait.”

“It’s been two years, Shepard, are you sure you still have all the answers?”

There was a teasing quality in his tone and the other three turians as well as a drell who’d popped up all looked at Garrus with some measure of surprise before quickly turning away again.

“I know I’m right,” she smirked.

Looking around again, she took in the whole of his team before slanting a look up into amused blue eyes. “Wanna move the rest of this discussion somewhere more... comfortable?”

\---

They reconvened at the Hole, small as it was, in case the Suns had worked out the location of Archangel’s base through Sidonis’ missing omnitool. Everyone sprawled across whatever surface they could and Zaeed grumbled, passing out drinks because “You can’t have a proper discussion without ‘em, Shepard. Now siddown and let me work.”

Shepard and Garrus ended up in the middle of the cluster, propped against each other with the ease of long familiarity. As everyone settled around them and accepted whatever booze Zaeed shoved at them with good humor, Shepard leaned into her larger friend. “Met up with the little Spitfire shortly after I came back. Was hoping I could get her to join up, but she said she was busy.”

Garrus’ browplates rose in surprise and interest. “Did she say what kind of busy? I heard there was some marine making eyes at her when she got back to the Fleet.”

“Nah, sounded like actual work.” She waved her hand dismissively. “‘Sides, I don’t want to drag her into this if she’s actually getting some action.”

He grinned and nudged her shoulder playfully.  “You mean there’s action out there that we can’t top?”

Shepard’s laugh cut through the side conversations and all attention turned to where she giggled against an amused Garrus’ side. “Sugar,” she gasped out, “there’s no action _you_ can’t top.”

When the crew had finished staring at the sight that was their boss and the resurrected Hero of the Citadel falling against each other and cackling, Sensat reached out and tapped Shepard’s boot twice with his own. She looked up, still snickering, and he glanced pointedly at where she was half-sprawled on Garrus’ lap. “Are you two..?”

He trailed off and Shepard gave him a blank look before twisting to stare up at her equally shocked friend for a moment. Looking back at the batarian, she met his curious look with an incredulous one of her own. “No? Unless we got together while I was dead, and if so,” she raised an eyebrow at Garrus with faux haughtiness, “I expect two years worth of dinners, dates, and presents beginning immediately.”

Before anyone else could comment, Zaeed snorted from across the room. “Sweetheart,” he gravelled sardonically around his scotch, “don’t be so hard on the little raptor. You were a cold bitch for most of those two years.”

Silence reigned again as jaws - and mandibles - dropped in surprise. Sure _she’d_ been joking about her missing time, but... Nervous eyes darted between soldier and mercenary, waiting to see how the Commander would react. Her face was a blank mask for five long seconds before she grinned wide enough to almost literally split her cheeks.

“It’s true, innit Scarface? Shepard on the rocks,” she snickered, thumping Garrus on the arm playfully as she stood to grab a refill, rattling the melting ice cubes in her empty glass.

“Oh,” the Archangel slipped back into the swing of things easily, “I’ve seen you laid out on more than just _rocks_ , Shepard.”

Sidonis was not the only one to cough into his drink as the Commander threw a saucy wink over her shoulder and questioned innocently, “But did it ever get yours off?”

\---

“I wonder if we could market it,” she mused during one of the breaks they took in the planning of their coming victory over the three not-quite-allied mercenary bands.

Her chin was propped up on one palm as she lazily took in the room. Bodies covered almost every available surface. Some were awake and pouring over omnitools and datapads, arguing strategies; others were catching a meal or sleeping where they could.

“Market what?” Weaver muttered tiredly from the floor nearby, an arm thrown across his eyes to block out the light.

“Shepard on Ice,” said Commander replied.

“What, like an ice lolly?” Monteague broke in from where she was slouched in one of the kitchen chairs, snickering at the thought of Shepard-shaped popsicles being sold from a cart at a carnival.

Mierin’s eyes flickered before she dropped her voice to mimic one of her recalled memories. “ _The vendor beckons him over, waving the treat aloft. Approaching swiftly, eagerly, he is already finishing the transaction on his omnitool, unable to resist the creamy, dripping sweet. He reaches for the cold dessert, inspects it for imperfection. A tentative lick. A satisfied sigh. ‘Oh Shepard,’ he moans, rapturous. ‘You taste delicious.’”_

A lazy grin spread across Shepard’s face as she rolled her eyes to take in the drell who’d appeared silently beside the table. Weaver nearly choked on his laugh, heaving himself up to point an accusatory finger at his teammate. “You’re evil, you know? I thought someone had really done it there for a moment.”

Mierin shrugged elegantly, fiery eyes glinting in amusement before slipping a datapad in front of the Commander. “Zaeed and Melanis have worked out the Suns angle and I believe this should cover the Eclipse portion. Ripper thinks he can get a bead on some of the Blood Pack and get us close to Garm again. Erash suggests blowing him up, but that’s his answer for everything so don’t take it too seriously.”

All four of them spared a glance to where the thin salarian was explaining something to an amused Sidonis. Whatever it was, it seemed to require expansive arm movements and sound effects. Shepard coughed into her hand to stifle her laughter and turned her attention to the datapad. She skimmed it twice before picking out the relevant parts and reading them thoroughly. Turning back to Mierin, she gestured at the information in front of them. “This has us one man short if we’re going to gun them all at the same time. I mean, I guess we could stagger the hits, but that just gives them time to beef up security or even get off this rock.”

The drell nodded in confirmation. “Zaeed informed us you were also looking to pick up the Professor before you left station. He’s rumored to be ex-STG, and that expertise would come in handy if you can convince him to help.”

Nodding in both understanding and agreement, Shepard stood. Handing the datapad back to Mierin and checking her armour and weapons reflexively, she began barking orders to the collected team. “Rumor has it there’s a plague on down below that affects everyone but humans and vorcha. Since none of you are _that_ ugly, I need Weaver, Butler, and Monteague kitted up and ready to go into the slums. Scarface, you’re heavy support. Don’t wear your pretty armour boys,” she grinned, “we’re gonna be getting dirty.”

\---

Clearing their way through the slums of Omega to the Professor’s clinic was amusingly uneventful. There had been a few skirmishes with some Suns, but most of them were weak from the virus and went down easily. The few hostile vorcha they came across were also neutralised quickly by the experienced five-man team. Non-hostile beings of all species were ignored or helped as the situation warranted. By the time they reached the small clinic, Shepard had to admit she was getting a bit bored. Really, she should have known better than to even think it, but at least they got to have a nice conversation with the doctor before everything went down in a flaming handbasket.

“Relax, Sherlock. We’re here to find you, sure, but there’s no need to get all worked up about it,” she grinned across his lightning-fast deductions. “I’m Commander Shepard. We need your help with a mission or two, if you can pull yourself away from here.”

“Mission?” Mordin questioned, blinking huge dark eyes at her. “No, no. Can’t leave now. Clinic understaffed. Plague spreading too fast. Who sent you?”

The Commander winced, rubbing one of the scars on her cheek. “Technically? Cerberus. But really only ‘cause they’re fronting the cash and taking the threat seriously.”

He sucked in a deep breath and Shepard raised her eyebrows, waiting. “Unexpected,” he began, then glanced past her to Zaeed at her shoulder and the three others standing near the door. “Thought Cerberus only worked with humans. Why request salarian aid?”

She rolled her shoulders in a shrug and leaned against his worktable. “Like I said, they’re pretty much just fronting the cash. I got other species, but I didn’t want to risk them with the plague on. Mostly we’re asking you because you’re here, you’re bloody smart, and we could use your help against the Collectors.”

Zaeed raised a brow at her, and she grinned, “Oh, right. Not just Collectors. We could use a hand with some trash disposal upstairs too, if you’re up to it.”

The scientist looked marginally surprised, then shook his head. “Interesting. Collectors one of few groups capable of producing plague. Our goals there may be similar. As to other issue, have always found burning to be satisfying method.”

“Shoulda brought Erash along,” Monteague muttered with a crooked grin.

“‘House on fire’ wouldn’t even cover it, I bet,” Weaver snickered back.

Mordin stared at them blankly for a moment, then turned back to Shepard. “No matter. Plague must be dealt with first. Have engineered cure, but must disperse it through ventilation system. Unfortunately, also needed here. Assistants incapable of providing necessary discouragement to troublemakers.”

The Commander clapped her hands and straightened with a smile. “Isn’t that just convenient! We’ve got nothing much to do until you’re free, so if you give me the cure and directions to the ward’s vent controls, you can keep an eye on the clinic and we’ll handle playing heroes.”

The scientist glanced back at her from where he’d drifted to a nearby console. “Environmental Control Center overrun with vorcha. Will need to kill them.”

He made to say more, but an ominous grinding came from the fans in the ceiling. “That didn’t sound promising,” Zaeed grumbled.

Mordin tapped briefly at his omnitool, dark eyes flickering back and forth rapidly. “Entire ventilation system shut down. Vorcha trying to kill everyone. Need to get power back on before whole district suffocates.”

Shepard held out her hand for the cure expectantly, a wide smile on her face. “I hope they don’t hold their breaths for that outcome,” she practically chirped.

Her squad pinned her with unamused stares as the salarian settled a package of vials in her upturned palm. “Unnecessary,” he replied blithely. “Perforated lung tissue inconducive to vorcha’s continued respiratory function.”

“Here,” he continued as all but Shepard swung mildly incredulous expressions to him. “Also have weapons taken from dead Blue Suns. May aid in perforation attempts. One more thing,” Mordin interjected before Zaeed had time to do much more than inspect the Carnifex he was handed. “Daniel. One of my assistants. Went into vorcha territory looking for victims. Hasn’t come back.”

The Commander frowned faintly. “Of course. We’ll keep an eye out for him.”

“Thank you. Told him not to go, but he’s smart. Bright future, I hope. His return would be,” he inhaled sharply, “brilliant.”

Her lips twitched back to a grin easily. “Don’t worry Sherlock,” she patted the salarian lightly on the shoulder. “We got this. Back in a flash!”

\---

They were not, however hard they tried, back in a flash. Shepard snarled soundlessly as she lobbed a fireball at the closest vorcha. 'Overrun' was certainly the right word for the facility they were trying to take back. She heard Butler hiss in triumph through the comm as he picked off an opposing sniper and ducked out of cover briefly to see how many were still alive.

"Bloody space cockroaches is what they are," Zaeed muttered as he put Mordin's perforator to good use.

“Do they even make something like Raid for vorcha?” Monteague asked as she threw out a singularity only to warp-detonate it when she’d pulled in several hostiles.

“Us,” the Commander all but growled, flipping over her cover to rush the last remaining vorcha between the squad and their objective and unloading her rifle in his face.

The entire squad was snickering as they came out from behind whatever cover they’d taken. Butler clapped her on the shoulder as Weaver worked on getting the last vent controls running again. “They teach you to make cheesy comments like that in N-school or the Spectres, boss? Just so I know what to turn down if I ever decide I missed being a Sammy.”

Zaeed snorted from her other side. “That’s just standard Alliance Marine survival training, kid. They kick you down to the desk jobs if you can’t pull off strategic one-liners.”

Shepard laughed as the fans finally ground back to life. “How’d you know, Scarface? Didn’t think you even looked at basic sideways."

"I didn't," the mercenary agreed, falling into step as they began the trek back towards the clinic. "But I heard enough from the grunts we'd get dropping out wantin’ to be space cowboys.”

“Space cowboys?” Weaver muttered incredulously.

“Bounty hunters and mercs have been portrayed as Wild West Vigilantes in Space for as long as the space programs have been around, seems like,” Butler groaned. “It’s such an overused cliché.”

Monteague actually blushed a little. “I don’t mind it, actually. My call sign was Radical Ed back when I flew interceptors.”

“Nice,” Shepard nodded approvingly, nudging the other woman with a shoulder. “Can you type with your toes, too?”

"No," Monteague laughed. "Some of the guys tried to get it changed to River when they found out I preferred to walk around barefoot shipside, though."

“Oh!” Weaver brightened as he caught the reference. “From that old cult vid they remade a few years back. Seems like a weird choice though.”

“Everyone wants to be a Browncoat,” Shepard declared authoritatively.

Zaeed coughed a little before lighting a cigar to hide his self-satisfied grin. “I dunno… Why’d you think I called ‘em the _Blue Suns?”_

\---

The next part was easy, even if it probably shouldn’t have been.

Shepard had, with a grin that threatened to crack her face wide open, allowed Jaroth the luxury of calling for reinforcements that would never arrive before she’d snapped his neck bare-handed. The surprisingly effective volus/turian team of Grundan Krul and Vortash had become a virtual whirlwind of death in the ranks of Eclipse guards below, and Mierin and Weaver had followed behind, cleaning up and lending support.

Garrus, leading those who were moving against the Blood Pack, didn’t even need to get that close. He and Monteague just watched indulgently as Ripper picked Mordin and Erash up in either arm and the trio laughed loud and long at the sight of nearly a whole district of Omega going up in flames.

Zaeed, walked straight into the Suns’ hideout - Butler and Sidonis on long-range support and Sensat on his six - and downed Tarak with a single pistol shot to the back of his head. He was able to do so without any alarms sounding because of precisely three things: the explosion that rocked the station and decimated Garm; the frantic, cut-off call from Jaroth; and a localised EMP set off by Melanis that disrupted the Blue Suns’ internal communication systems.

Not even the vaguely threatening note from Aria requesting they come pay her a visit and explain what they thought they were doing messing around with her station could dampen the team’s spirits, so it was a mildly hungover Savior of the Citadel that marched up the front steps of Afterlife the next afternoon and demanded entrance. The asari had taken one look at her smirk, the peculiar set of Garrus’ mandibles that indicated he still had a massive headache, and the almost disturbingly cheery Zaeed and just sighed. Waving her hand at one of the nearby guards, the Queen of Omega released a slightly worse-for-wear Miranda and Jacob into Shepard’s custody and told them to get the hell off her station.

\---

They worked out who was staying on the _Normandy_ and who was not without much issue. Sensat elected to remain on Omega, joining Aria’s guard for the better pay (and the eye candy, or so he claimed). Butler also slipped back into the station’s fray without much issue, extracting a promise from Shepard and Garrus that they would stop by for a nice dinner with him and his wife before hitting the Relay to Nowhere.

Ripper grinned as he cracked plates with Wrex on Tuchanka. He had a healthy respect for the Urdnot leader and laughingly agreed to watch over Urz while the Commander was away. Grunt was thrilled to have the older krogan as an honorary uncle, and they quickly set to wrestling in the dirt under Shepard’s fond eye. Melanis and Monteague were dropped off on the Citadel, both assuring the team that they could make their way from there. Vortash and Grundan Krul departed as soon as they touched down on Illium. The turian wryly assured them he’d keep his snickering volus companion in check, even as the latter took in the glittering skyline and rubbed his hands together with glee. Shepard made sure to warn Liara.

The rest joined the crew of the _Normandy_ with only minor complaints, mostly from Miranda’s quarters. Mordin and Erash could be heard cackling in the Lab at all hours as they turned their collective intellect on whichever problems Shepard slipped in front of them when they weren’t looking. Sometimes, when she passed by late in the night-cycle, she had to hold in her own chuckles as she heard them singing show tunes in harmonious duet (or trio, when they finally conned Chakwas into admitting she could sing). Weaver made himself at home in the Armoury, hotly debating the merits of various submachine gun models with Jacob. Shepard wasn’t sure she’d ever laughed so hard as when the ex-vigilante admitted he’d been working with Kasumi to persuade the Armoury Officer that he didn’t require a shirt to perform his duties.

Mierin was singularly pleased to have full run of Engineering, provided she shared with Daniels and Donnelly, of course. She also provided a unique, sympathetic ear for Thane to bend in regards to his dead wife and estranged son and a similar service for Kolyat when they finally managed to track him down. Tali noted later that the _Normandy_ had never run smoother than when the two of them were taking care of her drive core. Sidonis alternated his time between the shuttle bay and the mess. Gardner had complained long and loud the first time he’d found the turian in his kitchen, but eventually conceded with bad grace to allow Spike full run of the dextro meals. The Cerberus Kodiak pilot simply appreciated the additional hands and technical expertise.

While the extra crew meant a slightly higher operating cost, it also meant that ground-side missions were completed more efficiently and with minimal loss of resources. It was, therefore, an only slightly battered but exceedingly triumphant _Normandy_ that rocketed back through the Omega 4 Relay in order to celebrate the destruction of a truly monstrous enemy at the heart of the galaxy. Those of Archangel’s squad that had not followed them into the unknown were there to meet them on the grimy station in celebration of their successful return. Under Aria’s watchful eye, the crew of the _SR-2_ and an entire host of Angels filled Afterlife with enough drunken revelry to wear down even the toughest of cybernetic upgrades and raise the full chorus of their laughter to the endless skies.


End file.
